You Must Be Out Of Your Mind
by IcedCoffeeInWinter
Summary: The demons of your past are as powerful as ever, and you don't know if she's strong enough to help your exorcise them.
1. Chapter 1

_If you think you can leave the past behind,  
__You must be out of your mind.  
__If you think you can simply press rewind,  
__You must be out of your mind, son.  
__You must be out of your mind._

You're sprawled out on the couch, and your little sister sits down in the armchair. You're trying to watch TV, but you're still aware of her eyes on you. You prop yourself up on your elbow and look at her.

"Can I help you?" you ask. "Because I'm very involved in this episode of _The Partridge Family_."

You're really not. You have no idea what's happening, and you're a little bit surprised that you could recognize what show is on. You feel out of it. You're not sure if you're hung over, if you're coming down with something, or if you're just down. But either way, you want your sister to leave you alone.

"Keith," she starts. You flinch. She and your mother are the only people who still call you Two-Bit. Whenever they call you by your real name, you know that you're in for it.

"Keith, you look like hell," she says after a pause.

"Wow, thanks May," you reply. "You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself."

"Keith, I'm serious," she says. "You're never home because you're out all night, you're losing weight, and don't think I don't know how much you're drinking."

"I go through a case of beer a week. That's nothin'," you grumble.

"That's what you have _at home_," she corrects. "I know you're stealing from mom's purse to go to the bar."

She's right, and it scares you that she knows what you're doing, but you keep your cool.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't," she replies.

You breathe an exasperated sigh. "I can stop whenever I want."

"Then stop now," she says.

"Nope."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't want to right now," you say.

She starts to pick at spot on the chair where the fabric is getting thin.

"Mom and I are worried," she finally says. "She's talking about checking you into a hospital or something."

"I'm an adult. She can't do that."

"There are ways, and she'll find them."

You sit up, pick your jacket up off the floor, and grab your cigarettes from the coffee table.

"Fuck you. I don't need this," you snarl as you storm out of the house.

You're halfway to Mary Alice's house and almost through your pack of cigarettes before you realize you're crying. You know your sister is right, and it scares you shitless. But you don't know what to do. You don't know how to stop.

Three months later, and Mary Alice still takes you home every night and lets you sleep in her bed. You still get up and drag yourself the mile and a half home when she gets up for work in the morning. Things haven't gotten further than cuddling and kissing even though you're as in love with her as ever. And you can't decide if she's the only thing holding you together, or if she's just one of the many things making you fall apart. One thing's for sure, though. You're doing worse than you ever have, and there's a very real chance that you won't live to see thirty.

XXX

There's a pile of cigarette butts and an empty pint bottle of cheap whiskey sitting beside you on Mary Alice's porch. Everything is spinning, and you're trying your hardest not to get sick even though you know it's a lost cause. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning, and even then it wasn't much. You're smart enough to know that drinking and smoking on an empty stomach is a bad idea, but you put that out of your mind. You needed something to calm your nerves and dull the pain, and an upset stomach seemed like a fair trade. Now, you just wonder what you were thinking. You feel like shit, the people who live in the other half of the duplex are staring at you through their window, and the nip in the air is starting to make you uncomfortably cold. You bury your face in your hands. You just want Mary Alice to come home.

A few minutes later, you hear a pair of high-heeled shoes clicking up the walkway, up the steps, and across the porch. They stop right beside you, and you feel a hand on your shoulder. You know it's Mary Alice before you even look up. You know the smell of her perfume.

"I don't feel good," you say.

"I know," she says as she eyes the empty bottle and pile of smoked cigarettes.

"Can I come in?" you ask.

She nods. "Let's get you to bed."

It can't be much after six-thirty, but you don't care. You're exhausted. You let her help you stand up and lead you to bed. You kick off your shoes and take off your jeans and then crawl into bed. She sits down next to you and starts stroking your hair. You let your eyes fall closed.

"You want something to eat?" you ask.

You know you should say yes, but just thinking of food turns your stomach. You're already starting to drift off anyway.

"No," you say softly. "I'm not hungry."

"I'll bring you some water," she says. "And the wastebasket."

"No, don't go," you murmur. It's a pathetic protest, and you doubt she even heard you.

You're asleep before she comes back.

XXX

You have a nightmare about your old friends. Johnny dying in the hospital, Dally crumpling under the streetlight, Soda stepping on the land mine, and Steve giving himself the dose of heroin that he knew would kill him. You see them over and over and over, and there's nothing you can do to make it stop. You wake up screaming.

Mary Alice turns on the table lamp and wraps her arms around you.

"Keith," she says softly. "It's ok, honey. You just had a bad dream. It'll be all right."

She tries to comfort you, but you're shaking like a leaf and sobbing. It won't be all right. It will never be all right. The dream is still fresh in your memory and your stomach is churning. You grab the wastebasket just in time. Even though there's almost nothing in your stomach, you're still violently sick.

You don't sleep well for the rest of the night. It's partly because you feel so sick, and partly because you're afraid of having another nightmare. You remember back when Ponyboy was the one having nightmares, and you couldn't dream of anything other than girls. You know that they scared him something awful, and you didn't quite understand. Now that you're having your own bad dreams, you realize what he was going through. And even though he's doing so much better than you are, you pity him.

XXX

Mary Alice's alarm goes off, and she gets out of bed and starts to get ready for work. You know that you won't be able to go back to sleep, but you're still warm and comfortable in her bed. You don't want to get up and walk back to your house in the early morning cold. Plus, your sister will be there, and after your fight yesterday, you don't want to face her.

The bed dips a little as Mary Alice sits down beside you. She starts her usual routine of gently shaking you and whispering your name until you wake up. You open your eyes and look up at her.

"Good morning," she says softly.

"I've had better," you groan.

"Not feelin' too well, huh?" she asks.

You wonder how she can still be so sympathetic. You're surprised she's not tired of dealing with your shit yet. But you're also happy. You don't know what you'd do without her.

"No," you reply. "I really don't. Gonna' be a long walk home."

She's quiet for a minute. "You wanna stay here?"

"Could I?"

She sighs and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't see why not."

You're surprised, but also undeniably grateful. "Thanks."

She nods and kisses your forehead. "I'll see you tonight."

You pull the covers tighter around you. "I'll be here."

It's not until after she's gone that you start to feel guilty. You can't shake the gnawing feeling in your gut that you manipulated her, and that little voice in your head is screaming that you're going to push her away. She'll leave just like everyone else.

You grab the wastebasket and heave. The remnants of last night's whiskey burn more coming up than they did going down.

* * *

This is sort of a sequel to _Montezuma_. I couldn't get Two-Bit and Mary Alice out of my head, and I had someone ask me if I was going to continue the story. So I decided to go ahead and make it more than a oneshot.

S.E. Hinton owns _The Outsiders_. The Magnetic Fields own _You Must Be Out Of Your Mind_.

Reviews are always appreciated! :D


	2. Chapter 2

You manage to drag yourself out of bed and onto the couch sometime around ten. You're cold, exhausted, and nauseous, but you don't want to stay in Mary Alice's bed all day. You can't sleep, and you need a distraction. TV seems as good as anything.

You turn on the TV and flip to a channel that you think you can watch. It's some early morning talk show, which is exactly what you need. The voices in the background are calming, but also not anything that you can pay attention to. You're about to doze off when the host starts talking.

"We're here with the latest sensation," he says. "P.M. Curtis of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, is putting out his third novel this month. He recently turned twenty-one, but he's already being compared to Agatha Christie and Edgar Allan Poe. Mr. Curtis, thank you for joining us."

You're instantly wide awake and sitting up. Ponyboy looks more or less the same. Even though Mary Alice's black and white TV set leaves something to be desired, you can make out his features just fine. He has a few wrinkles around his eyes, and there's some five o'clock shadow on his face. He seems happy, though. He looks younger and fresher than you. You remember being twenty-one. That was the age that Kathy decided to leave you. That was the year that Darry knew Ponyboy was gone for good and decided to marry his girl and leave for Texas. Twenty-one was the last time that you felt in control of your life. As you watch Ponyboy, you can tell that he's still shy. He barely manages a smile and then looks everywhere but into the camera for the rest of the interview. You can't believe it. There's the kid, on national TV, giving an interview about his latest book. And there you are, four years older than him, and lying on the couch when you could be out making something of your life. Your head starts to spin and your stomach starts to churn. When the interview ends, you ease yourself off the couch and start back toward the bedroom. You were crazy to think you could get out of bed today. You're as sick as ever.

XXX

You wake up with a start, drenched in cold sweat and panting. The nightmare is still fresh in your memory, but you want to forget it as quickly as you can. You look over at the clock and groan when you see that you only slept for an hour. You just want the day to be over. You need Mary Alice.

You force yourself out of bed for the second time that day and stumble into the bathroom. You splash cold water on your face and swish some mouthwash around in an attempt to freshen up a little. You're about to go back to the living room, but you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. And for the first time in months, you really look at yourself.

Your sister was right. You really do look like hell. Your eyes are sunken and dull, and they have dark circles under them even though all you do is sleep. The beard you're growing because you've been too lazy to shave barely hides your hollow cheeks. Your clothes have gotten too big and are practically hanging off your body.

"Oh god," you whisper.

You have to fight to keep yourself from punching the mirror. You don't want to see any more. You turn away and go back into the living room. You flip on the TV, flop down on the couch, and try to forget what you just saw. You end up dozing off, and you fade in and out of a fitful sleep until Mary Alice gets home.

XXX

She's picked up a bottle of wine, and you split it with her. You manage to force down a few bites of the spaghetti she makes for dinner, and then your curl up next to her on the couch in front of the TV.

"Being awful quiet," she finally says. "You OK?"

You nod. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," you say, even though you know it's a lie.

You think she's dropped it, but then she says, "I just worry about you sometimes."

"Why's that?" you ask, even though you think you know the answer.

"I don't know," she says. "Nothing. Just forget I said anything."

"No, I wanna know now," you say.

"I don't want you to take it the wrong way."

You laugh. "C'mon. I can handle it. I've been through worse."

"That's what I mean," she says. "You've seemed so sad lately. And I guess I knew you could be that way since I first met you. People at Lefty's said you were usually alone and you'd been through some shit. But you've just seemed … worse somehow these past few months."

You can't argue with her there. You know that she's right. And although you're calmer than you were when your sister tried to talk to you, you're still scared.

"You're hardly eating, you're having nightmares almost every night," she continues. "And I'm certainly not a light drinker myself, but there have been a few nights where I thought I'd have to take you to get your stomach pumped because you drank so much."

What she doesn't know is you actually did have to have your stomach pumped for that exact reason. Twice.

"You wanna talk about anything?" she asks.

You sigh. "I don't know, Mary Alice. I don't even know where to start. There's too much."

She nods and pulls you into a hug. "You'll be OK."

You want to laugh and tell her how much you doubt that, but instead you just tell her that you want to go to bed. It's pretty early, but she goes with you.

As soon as you get into bed, Mary Alice pulls you to her and kisses you. The kisses get deeper and deeper, and before you know it, the two of you are in a full-blown makeout session.

"Feel better?" she asks once it's over.

You don't know what to say. In a way, you do feel better. But another part of you feels more down and confused than before.

"What is this?" you ask. You've lost count of how many times you've asked her that question. And every time you ask, she doesn't give you a straight answer.

This time is no different. She just pulls you close and tangles a hand in your hair.

"Don't worry," she whispers. "Just get some rest."

You keep prying, and she keeps refusing to respond. Eventually, you realize it's a lost cause and give up. You sigh heavily, snuggle up as close as you can to her, and sleep.

* * *

Any chance I could get some reviews? ;)


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," your sister says.

You roll your eyes and walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"Good to see you too, May," you say. You take in her too short skirt and all the eye makeup she's wearing. "You look like a dollar a dance today."

"Thanks," she says sarcastically. "And where have you been?"

Your heart skips a beat as you think of Mary Alice, and you try to think of a convincing lie to tell her.

"With a friend," you finally say.

"Jim Beam?" she asks. "Or was it Jack Daniels this time?"

"Bob Smirnoff, actually," you reply. You hope that the irritation shows in your voice.

You're to your bedroom now. You try to close the door behind you, but May puts her foot in the doorframe.

"What?" you ask. "Look, I'm tired. I wanna go to bed for a while."

"Mom was terrified," she says. "She thought you were dead in an alley somewhere. She was gonna call the cops."

You feel a pang of guilt, but you say, "clearly I'm fine."

"Are you really?" she asks.

You sigh and look at her. All you can manage is another sigh. You shrug your shoulders.

"I don't know, May," you reply. "I just don't know."

You take advantage of her confusion to close and lock your bedroom door. She knocks on the door and calls your name, but you just pull the covers over your head and ignore her. She eventually leaves, and you fall asleep.

Your alarm goes off, and the last thing you want to do is to get out of bed. But you know that Mary Alice will be waiting for you at Lefty's, and that's what gets you going.

XXX

Lefty himself is bartending tonight. He's an older guy who's mostly bald and covered in small scars. He got the nickname because he used to work in one of the factories, and he was in some sort of accident that maimed his right hand so badly that it's practically useless now. You think he won a lawsuit against the factory, and that gave him the money that he used to open the bar, but you're not sure. It's just something you've heard through the grapevine. All you know is that he's a nice guy, and his drinks are cheap. You prefer him to Buck Merrill, the guy who owned the bar you used to drink at. Lefty is kinder, quieter, and he won't send one of his employees to steal your hubcaps if you don't pay off a bar tab on time.

"So where's your lady tonight, Mathews," Lefty asks.

You feel all the other patrons' eyes on you.

"She'll be here," you say.

"Bet you're gonna marry her soon, huh?" Jack Reynolds asks. He's one of the cowboys, and he's only in town a couple of months out of the year. You know he'll be leaving soon along with Matt McCormick and Slim Walker, the other guys in the rodeo.

"Dunno. Maybe," you say. You wish you could say yes and mean it. You wish that you could even mean the maybe.

"What do ya' mean, 'maybe'?" Matt asks. "You know she's sweet on you."

You take a sip of your beer, and you wish you'd gone with something stronger.

"I mean sometimes she acts like she's sweet on me, and sometimes she don't," you reply. "Dunno what to think, but I ain't gonna ask questions."

"And why the hell not?" Slim asks. "You've got a right to know. Gotta let her know who's in charge."

You snort. "She knows full well who's in charge. It's her."

All the guys start talking at once, telling you how you can't stand for that and that you need to take charge. Before you can reply, the bell on the door jingles, and Mary Alice walks in. The group of guys disperses, and she sits down next to you. She gives you a kiss on the cheek, and you wrap an arm around her shoulder.

"Cranberry and vodka for the lady," you say to Lefty. You know her drink by heart.

"Thanks," she says once Lefty has walked off to make her drink.

"It's nothin'," you reply.

But you know that soon it will be a big deal. Your mom had fewer bills in her pocketbook than usual. You don't know if she's hiding them from you or if she's not making as much money as she used to. But whatever it is, you're about to have less money to spend on drinks. It worries you more than you want to admit.

You spend the rest of the night walking around the bar, talking to the other guys. Mary Alice only leaves your side to get more drinks. When last call comes, you can tell that she has a comfortable buzz going. You, on the other hand, are plastered. You're able to make it back to her house once the bar closes, though, and you consider that an accomplishment.

XXX

You lay in bed as Mary Alice gets ready to turn in for the night. You can't stop thinking about what everyone at Lefty's said. When she crawls into bed next to you, wearing nothing but her cotton nightgown, you know what you want to do.

"Hey," you say.

She turns to face you, and you catch her bottom lip between your teeth. She closes her eyes and goes with the kiss. Her mouth is warm and sweet from her toothpaste, and you can feel the electricity between the two of you.

You want to tell her that you love her. You've said it to plenty of girls before, and you don't know why saying it to Mary Alice is such a big deal. It never was before. You close your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and think about what everyone at Lefty's said to you earlier in the night.

"Mary Alice?" you say.

"Huh?" she replies.

You freeze.

"Keith?" she asks. "You OK?"

You can't do it. "It's nothing," you reply.

"You're sure?" she asks.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

She doesn't look convinced, but she nods and turns off the light. A few seconds later, her warm body is snuggled up next to yours. You stay awake, listening to her breathing until it's light and regular. Once you're sure she's asleep, you gently kiss her forehead.

"I love you," you whisper.

And even though you know she didn't hear you, you still feel better. It feels good to get it off your chest.

* * *

Let me just go on the record as saying that I totally _don't _agree with the guys at Lefty's were saying to Two-Bit. It just seems like something that guys would have said, considering that they're in a Conservative state in the early '70s.

Shout out to incenseandpeppermints and xmusecliox for reviewing! :D

As always, reviews of any sort are greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Mary Alice leaves you for a week to go see family in Arkansas. You don't want her to go, but you also don't put up a fight. You know it's not your place, and you don't want to piss her off. Plus, it is Thanksgiving. You might as well let her go see her extended family and her old friends. At least she has them.

It's hard on you, though. You've forgotten how to sleep alone at night, and you spend hours tossing and turning and jumping at every small sound the house makes. You try holding a pillow or a folded up blanket and pretending it's Mary Alice, but it's no use. It's only the first night, but you can tell that this is going to be a long week. At around three in the morning, you give up on sleep.

You stole Ponyboy's newest book from one of the bookstores downtown last week. You feel kind of bad about it, but you didn't have money to pay for a copy. Besides, the book is already on the bestseller lists, and you're sure that he won't miss a few dollars. At first, you weren't sure if you would even read it. You just wanted a copy because it made the past seem less far behind. But now, you figure you might as well. There's nothing else you can do at this time of night, and you want to see if the kid's books are as good as everyone says.

You light a cigarette and open the book. You've just finished the first page when you hear a door creak open in the back of the house, and you listen as footsteps come toward the living room. Your mother walks in and cocks an eyebrow at you.

"Thought I smelled smoke," she says as she sits down next to you on the couch.

"Nothing's on fire," you reply.

"Thank god for that," she says.

She does a double take of you, and her eyes get big. "Are you reading a book?"

You snicker and show her the cover. "It's Ponyboy Curtis's newest book."

"I saw him on the television the other day," she says. "He's really made a name for himself, hasn't he?"

You nod. "He has."

"Always knew he was better than North Tulsa," she says. "He had a vibe about him."

"Yep," you reply. "He sure did."

The two of you sit in silence. You light another cigarette and try to read more, but your mom is staring at you and it's making it impossible for you to concentrate. You look up at her and close the book. You don't need to say anything. She knows that she has your attention.

"Honey," she starts. She pauses, trying to decide what to say next. "I'm really worried about you."

"I know it," you say. "May told me."

She sighs. "I just don't want you to end up like your father. But I'm so scared that you will."

You think about your father. He was always a drinker, but in the months before he left, he cared more about the alcohol than anything else, even his family. You remember how he stopped taking you into the backyard to play catch after he got home from work and how he stopped bringing your mom flowers every time he got a paycheck. You remember a lot about him, but your strongest memory is of him passed out on the couch, reeking of cheap vodka. That, and him screaming at your mother over nothing. You never wanted to be like him. In fact, you hoped that you would be nothing like him. But you're well aware that you're your father's son. Every day, you remind yourself more and more of him, and you hate yourself for it.

"I know," you say. "I am too."

"Do you want to talk?" your mom asks. "You know I'm here for you."

You're quiet for a minute as you try to collect your thoughts. You sigh.

"When's it gonna' get better, mom?" you ask.

Her eyes are sad and tired. "Oh, Two-Bit."

You lean into her hug. Neither one of you speaks for several minutes. You finally break the silence.

"You always told me to keep my chin up," you say. "Even when something really shitty happened, I'd laugh it off. I bounced back whenever I went to jail. But I can't do it any more, mom. I'm exhausted. I don't have enough energy to pretend that everything is OK."

You close your eyes tight and swallow hard. You don't know why, but you don't want her to see you cry.

"I know it's hard," she says. "Life is hard, and it just gets harder as you get older."

"That's not what I wanna' hear right now," you say.

"I know," she says. "I know it's not."

She pauses for a minute. "But you'll be OK. Look at me. You think it's easy raising two kids all alone, working two jobs, trying to keep a roof over our heads? Hell no it's not easy. But I'm OK. And you will be too."

"But what if I'm not? What if I end up like dad instead of like you?"

She just sighs and hugs you tighter. She knows as well as you do that it's not a good answer, and neither one of you wants to hear it.

"You're my only son," she says. "And I love you."

It's not even close to an answer to your question, but you don't care. It's late, and you don't want to talk about how bleak your future is right now.

"Love you too," you say. "And thanks."

She goes back to bed after that, but you stay up a bit longer. You smoke the rest of your pack of cigarettes, have a beer, and read the first three chapters of Ponyboy's book. You have to hand it to the kid, it is a really good story. It got your mind off of all your problems, even if it was just for a while.

XXX

Lefty has known Mary Alice longer than most of the patrons of his bar. She got started as a secretary at the factory before he had to leave because of his injury, and he was her booze connection for a while before she was old enough to drink. You know they've drifted apart over the years, and they were never super close, but he still knows her better than anyone else you know.

"I just wanna' get her something," you say. "Something to let her know I was thinking about her and I missed her while she was gone. What about flowers? Are flowers good?"

You haven't bought presents for a girl in a long time, and you've almost forgotten how to do it. But you've never met a girl who doesn't like flowers.

"Can't go wrong with flowers," Lefty says. "Remember her saying she likes lilies. I guess that's still the case. Never known a girl to change her preference in flowers."

You nod and put a few bills down on the counter to pay for your drinks. You also include a pretty generous tip.

"Lilies. Got it. Thanks."

* * *

So here's a look at Ms. Mathews. Love her? Hate her? Let me know!

Reviews are great! :D


	5. Chapter 5

It happens so fast that you can't even tell who initiates the hug. One second she's standing in the doorway, and the next you're holding her tight and she's squeezing your waist.

"I missed you," you say. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," she says.

You kiss her softly and pull out of the hug. You suddenly feel shy and awkward as you hold the lilies out to her.

"These are for you," you say.

Her eyes light up, and she smiles.

"Thank you," she says. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I wanted to."

You sit on the couch and watch as she puts the flowers in a vase. She sets them down on the coffee table, and then sits next to you. You wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she leans against you.

"How was Arkansas?" you ask.

"Thought I'd have more fun there than I did," she says. "My crazy uncle showed up uninvited to Thanksgiving dinner, and we had to call the cops because he wouldn't leave. And all my old friends were busy doing their own things, so I hardly even got to see them. So I mostly sat around, listening to my grandma ask me why I'm not married yet. I don't think I'll go back for a while."

"I'm sorry," you say.

She shrugs. "It's alright. I just should've stayed here."

"Wish you had," you reply. "I was about to go crazy. This town is boring as hell without you."

She laughs. "What'd you do without me anyway?"

You don't know what to tell her. You hardly slept, you sat in your room and cried a lot, you watched TV, and you had no appetite so you didn't even eat Thanksgiving dinner. You feel like the only thing you did was realize how much of a wreck you are without Mary Alice. That, and finish reading Ponyboy's book.

"Nothin' much," you finally say. "Watched TV, did the Thanksgiving thing with my mom and my sister, went to Lefty's a couple times. Guess that's about it."

"Sounds like you had about as much fun as I did," she says.

"Yeah," you say, even though you think she probably had more fun than you. "Probably."

"Let's spend Christmas together," she says. "Drink too much spiked eggnog. Watch _White Christmas_. We'll have a ball."

She's probably joking, but you can't imagine a better way to spend Christmas.

"'Can't wait," you say.

She smiles and slightly shakes her head. "Can't believe you got me flowers. How'd you know lilies are my favorite?"

You shrug. "Lucky guess."

"Didn't get you anything," she says. "Not that there's much I could've gotten you in the middle of nowhere in Arkansas."

"It's OK," you say. "I wasn't expecting anything anyway."

"I'll get you drinks," she says. "I'll pay for your booze at Lefty's all next week."

You laugh. "I'll have to buy you some more flowers for us to be even if you do that," you say. "It's fine, Mary Alice. Really."

"You're sure?" she asks.

"Yeah," you say. You lean in closer to her. "I'm sure."

"I really did miss you," she says.

You respond by kissing her. She lets you kiss her longer and deeper than she ever has before. You've missed her, and you're feeling brave, but you still know that you're pushing your limits when she lets you feel her up over her sweater. You can't help getting greedy. You slide your hands down again and pull at them hem of her shirt, trying to take it off. She instantly freezes and pushes your hands away.

"No," she says. You see something that looks like terror in her eyes.

"Mary Alice," you start.

"No, no," she says. "Oh god, oh my god."

"Mary Alice, I'm sorry. I didn't…"

She runs back to the bathroom and locks herself in. She won't open the door no matter how much you knock, but you can hear her sobbing. Hours pass, but she still doesn't leave. It's almost two in the morning when you decide to leave her a note and go home.

XXX

You're waiting for Lefty when he shows up to open the bar. He looks surprised to see you.

"Figured you'd be with Mary Alice," he says. "The lilies didn't work?"

You sigh. "I dunno, Lefty," you say. "Can we talk?"

"If you help me wash dishes and get set up," he says.

"Sounds fair," you reply. You get up off the pavement and follow him into the bar.

XXX

It's still pretty early. You're sipping on some brandy, digesting what Lefty told you, when she walks into the bar. Her eyes are puffy, her hair is a mess, and she's wearing the same clothes that she was wearing last night. You figure she must have called out of work today. When she sits down next to you, you also figure she didn't sleep last night.

"I got us some wine," she says. Her voice is hoarse. "It's a fancy Merlot. Or it should be. I paid an arm and a leg for it."

You nod.

"I'm sorry … about last night. It's not you, really."

You want to tell her that you know and that Lefty told you everything, even though he wasn't supposed to. You want to hug her and tell her that you love her. But instead you just nod again. Lefty said that she'd tell you when she's ready, and you believe him. You also think that this might be the night, but you don't want to push her.

She stares down at her feet. She looks fragile and like she might start crying again at any minute. It reminds you of when Johnny would show up at your door late at night, bruised, bleeding, and looking for some ice and a smoke and a place to sleep.

"Come home with me?" she asks.

"You want me to?" you ask.

She nods. "Yeah. I wanna talk. And I hate sleeping alone now."

You put some money down on the bar, stand up, and hold your hand out to her. She takes your hand and laces her fingers through yours.

"Let's go," you say softly.

She's quiet and looks down at the sidewalk for the whole walk home, but she doesn't let go of your hand.

* * *

So Mary Alice has some baggage. Maybe we'll find out why she's so neurotic?

Reviews are always appreciated :D


	6. Chapter 6

She pours two glasses of wine, and you both sit down on the couch. She hasn't made eye contact with you once since leaving Lefty's, and she nervously plays with the hem of her skirt instead of drinking. You can tell that she's miserable, and the silence is oppressive. You take a sip of the wine.

"Well, the wine certainly tastes fancy," you say. "Bet the grapes were very rich and refined. Probably went to Ivy League schools and drove Corvettes."

It's a lame attempt at making a joke, and you know it. You just wanted to make her smile and lighten the mood a little. But she doesn't even react. You sigh and put your hand on her knee. She jumps and finally looks up at you.

"Hey," you say. "If anyone knows about going through shit, it's me. You can talk to me."

"There's a lot to talk about," she says. "It'll take a long time."

"I've got plenty of that."

"And you've got your own stuff to deal with," she says.

"Don't you worry about me," you say. "Not now. This is about you."

She sniffles and wipes away a tear with her sleeve. You tentatively put an arm around her shoulder. After last night, you're not sure how she'll react, but you're pleasantly surprised when she leans against you. You pull her into a hug.

"It's gonna be OK," you say softly. You've lost count of how many times she's said that to you.

"You don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to," you say.

"No," she says. "After last night, you've got a right to know. God, I feel awful about that. You get me flowers and I flip out and lock myself in the bathroom. Great way to thank you."

"It's my fault too. I pushed too far."

"No… I… Ok. Ok. I'm gonna do this."

She seems so nervous, and you're afraid that she's going to start hyperventilating and pass out. Once again, you're tempted to tell her that Lefty already told you everything. She might not trust either one of you again, but she wouldn't have to go through telling you her story. You'd do anything to make her happy, but at this point, you don't know what that is.

You're not sure how much time has passed, but she's suddenly squeezing your hand. She takes a deep breath.

"When I was seventeen and still living back in Arkansas, I was seeing this guy," she starts. "He was twenty and had been kicked out of college. He was kind of rough around the edges, and I should have known he was bad news, but I was young and stupid."

You nod. You've heard it before, but you still want her to know you're listening.

"It was all fine for a while," she says. "He met my parents, he got along with my friends, I thought everything was fine."

She pauses, and you squeeze her hand.

"But then, things changed. I graduated high school, and I started talking about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. At first he just seemed intimidated, but then it got worse. He'd say things to me. Like I wasn't smart enough to go to college, and I'd be lucky if I could even find a job."

"Bastard," you say. The story sounds worse coming from her than it did coming from Lefty. If you knew where this guy was, you'd already be headed over to beat the tar out of him.

"I should've gotten out then," she continues. "But I didn't. I didn't even leave when he started to hit me. He just kept telling me that I was nothing without him, and that no one else would want me. And I believed him. So I stayed. And then…"

Her voice trails off, and she starts to cry. You know what's coming next, and you feel sick. You're not sure if she can handle telling you, and you're not sure if you can handle hearing it. Not again. Not from her.

"Did he…?" you ask.

She reads the expression in your eyes. You both know what the other is thinking. She doesn't need you to say any more. She nods.

"And after that I left. Packed a few things, used all my money to buy a bus ticket. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I swear, I was in a trance or something until I got here. For a while after, even. I found a family that needed a nanny and started working for them. After they moved I had enough money to get this place, and I started working as a secretary in the factory. I didn't go back to Arkansas for a long time. Not until I found out he was in jail and wouldn't be out for a long time."

"If he ever gets out, I'll find him and I'll kill him," you say.

She smiles faintly. "No use in you getting locked up over him. But thanks."

"Anything for you," you say.

She blushes. "I know. I know you've liked me for a while. I'm not stupid. Just… just scared. I know you're not like he was, but I'm still afraid to…"

"I know," you say. "It's OK."

"And last night. I know you didn't mean to, but it just got so far so fast. It reminded me of what happened and I just flipped out and…"

"You don't need to say anything more," you say.

"I can't help feeling bad," she says. "You keep asking me what this is. I know we might as well be a couple, and I know you're a nice guy and nothing like he was. It was a long time ago, but I still get scared sometimes. And I try to keep myself from being afraid by saying that it's not a real relationship because we haven't officially said it is, and that I'm safe until we do. Or sometimes I tell myself I'm just taking care of you. But it's a lie. I know it's a lie. And I know that I can't be afraid forever."

"You're safe with me," you say.

She nods. "I know. I just feel like I should have told you all of this sooner."

"No. Shoot, I haven't even told you about all that I've been through."

"Well, I showed you mine," she says. She smirks. "It's only fair that you show me yours."

You pull her close and kiss the top of her head. "Tomorrow. It's too late to get into it tonight."

"'Can't wait," she says. "Let's get to bed."

XXX

You both lay awake for a while. Her head is on your chest, and you're gently running a hand up and down her back.

"We'll look out for each other from now on," you say. "You take care of me, and I'll take care of you too."

"I'd like that," she says.

"And I won't hurt you. Not like he did. That's a promise."

"Mmm," she hums. "I know you won't."

"So," you say after a pause. "You my girl now or what?"

She smiles and nods. "Yeah. I'm your girl."

* * *

And here is where I have my disclaimers and I have to get preachy. Everything I wrote is based off things I read in my psychology classes and through other research. I hope it's accurate, but if it's not, and if anyone takes offense because of that, please please let me know. I want to make it right.

Second, if you or anyone you know if a victim of any sort of physical or psychological abuse, don't hesitate to get help. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and there's no reason to have to put up with it.


	7. Chapter 7

You yawn and lazily stretch. The light coming in through the blinds tells you that it must be late, but you still wish you could have slept a bit longer. Last night was the best night's sleep you've had in months. Maybe even a year or more. There were no nightmares, no tossing and turning, no waking up in the middle of the night feeling sick because you drank so much. And now that you're awake, you can tell that Mary Alice is still in the bed next to you. You slowly open your eyes and tap her on the arm. She had been reading a book, but when she sees you're up, she quickly closes it and lays down next to you again. You tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear and smile at her.

"'Mornin', beautiful," you rumble. Your voice is still thick with sleep.

She smiles back at you. "Hey there, handsome."

"What time is it?" you ask. "Must be gettin' late."

"Almost one in the afternoon," she replies.

"Glory. Could've woken me up."

"Thought about it. But you looked so peaceful I thought I'd let you sleep. I told work I'd be out for a few days anyway, so I don't have anywhere to be. Do you?"

You know you should probably go home and check in with your mom or your sister because they've been so worried about you. But you're so comfortable in the bed, and you're in no hurry to leave Mary Alice. You figure they'll be all right for a while.

"Mmm," you hum as you wiggle closer to her. "Just here."

She kisses your forehead. "Well good. Because if I remember right, you were gonna tell me a story."

You know what she's talking about, but you wish you didn't. For once, you're feeling all right. You've managed to push your past out of your mind for a while, and all you want is to spend the day relaxing in bed with her.

"I did, huh?" you ask.

"Sure did," she replies.

"You don't wanna' hear about all that," you say.

"I sure as hell do."

You sit up, get out of bed, and start to get dressed.

"Really, Mary Alice. It's a sad story. You don't wanna hear it, trust me. Now come on, my mom works in a diner. She'll get us some food for free."

You turn to look at her, and you notice that she hasn't budged. You hold your hand out to her, but she slaps it away.

"Come on," you say softly.

She shakes her head. "I'm not going."

You sigh. You know you're going to end up giving in, but you also want to fight it for as long as you can.

"I'm hungry," you say. "Let's go get something to eat."

She looks up at you, and you see the tears in her eyes.

"You promised."

You flop back down on the bed and sigh heavily. You know you've lost this battle.

"Fine," you say. "Fine. But you've gotta make me some coffee or somethin' first."

She nods and stands up. "OK. You want cream and sugar?"

You shake your head. "Just whiskey. As much as you've got."

XXX

You hate having to remember. You hate talking about it. You hate how much you cry and how many times you have to stop because you think you're going to be sick. Mary Alice was _raped_ for Christ's sake, and she was still more composed than you while she told her story. And after it's over, you feel drained. You just want to curl up and sleep for the rest of your life. This morning and how good you felt are a million years ago now. You hate yourself, and you hate _her_ for making you relive everything.

"I need a drink," you say.

She wordlessly gets out of bed and comes back with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. She pours a shot and hands it to you.

"That's cute," you say.

You set the shot glass down on the bedside table, take the bottle from her, and start drinking straight from it. She doesn't say anything for a while. She just wraps an arm around your waist and lets you drink until you're so drunk that you can hardly hold the bottle. She eases the bottle of vodka out of your hands and pushes you back against the pillows.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

You want to tell her not to worry. You're mad at her, sure, but you know all of this would have come out eventually. You want to tell her that you're the one who should be sorry, thanks for the vodka, and you hope that she still wants to be your girl after this.

But you're too drunk and too tired. You clumsily reach for the spot on the nightstand where the wastebasket usually is, and you're relieved when you find it.

"I'm sorry," you say once you're done getting sick.

She pushes your hair off of your sweaty forehead.

"It's OK," she soothes.

"You still wanna be my girl?" you ask.

"Of course I do," she says.

You snicker. "You crazy or something?"

"No. Just know a good thing when I find it."

"I'm tired," you reply.

She turns off the light and cuddles up to you.

"It's been a hard couple days," she says.

"Tell me about it," you reply.

You can tell from her voice that she knows you're joking, but she can also tell that you need a pick-me-up. So she takes your request seriously.

"Well first you got me flowers, but then I was stupid and flipped out. But it was all OK, because you asked me to be your girl the next day," she starts.

Even the worst of the drama between you two sounds good coming from her. You're in a deep sleep before she finishes the story.

* * *

I don't know my feels about this chapter. As always, I'm open to reviews, even if you're telling me you hate it.


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